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Thyroid Diva Swan Dive

It’s been an interesting life with you, far too interesting for most of the time, and although things started out well you’ve been destroying me one way or another for the past 6 years.

It was the T3 bombs in the brain that were the worst.

I could cope with the palpitations, I hardly even noticed the sweats, and a bpm of 175 was just mildly worrying while I tried to calm myself, collect my things and pick up my daughter from the creche at Brixton Rec.

But the psychotic incidents were too much.

They started off so well, all that enlightenment and inappropriate behaviour at work – happy days.

But the bridge in the snow, that looped tape of me jumping; that was too much. Far, far too much.

And you had wedged yourself in so well. You weren’t going to go without a fight, nosing your way up my laryngeal nerve. You nearly took my voice completely. And left me one last monster T3 kick in hospital that had me convinced it was the end, as my whole body went into tremor and the monitor looked set to fuse the lights.

Then peace, or at least the journey towards it.

But maybe I should be grateful, for all the anger you absorbed, the years of not being listened to by fathers or teachers or endocrinologists. I don’t think there was room in my throat for all the shouting I wanted to do or all the sobbing. So maybe you were just a huge sponge for tears of grief and rage. Stopping the connection between my head and heart to save me from that pain. Numbing me from myself. A little goiter cushion growing plumper every day.

Goodbye and thank you for all you’ve given me and taken from me. I may not have appreciated it otherwise.

You are dead, replaced with 2 little white pills every morning and I, old friend, old nemesis, old teacher, am very definately, alive.